Les Hot Links lehotdog.jpg The real deal - American hot dogs Sue Rynski spotted when we were in the Marais. One of my cool new Paris friends, Susie Hollands, blogs about the rock venues in Paris my rock 'n roll photographer friend Sue Rynski told her about. The photo Susie thumbnails on the rock venues link above is from Sue's book, just published in Japan, of her photos of the punk group "Destroy All Monsters." I was reminded of Sue's punk era photos by a mention, by Simon Doonan, in The New York Times, in an article about the surging popularity of Warhol. Ruth La Ferla writes: “There is a longing for that era in Manhattan of self-invention and discovery, of cultural questioning,” said Simon Doonan, the creative director of Barneys, who is orchestrating the store’s many-pronged Warhol holiday marketing. Likewise, Sue's photos, even though they're of an era of sex, drugs, and rock 'n roll (with plenty of all of that) have a certain innocence to them. They're of the days art school kids started a band, because, well, what else do you do?...not because their whole lives were planned out, down to the marketing campaigns, at age 10. Finally, here's a link to a slideshow of the photos from Sue Rynski's "Destroy All Monsters" book. Niagara is the girl with the legs. I love Niagara's anthem, "I'm bored." Could Iggy Pop have...borrowed from that? Hmmm. Through Susie's blog, I found another link that interested me -- with photos of last year's better campaign to improve public manners in Paris: Paris_propre1.jpg Paris_propre3.jpg They've got a very good point, huh? And finally, note to Sue and Susie, you have to meet my friend Elliott Hester, a flight attendant turned hilarious travel writer who's just settled down in Paris, and is, at least for November, taking over from the LAT Paris Postcards travel blogger Susan Spano...she of years of lame entries and glaring errors. In her last entry, she tells people to be kind to Elliott. Wrong. My take on this, posted in the comments on an earlier entry on my blog: We shouldn't have to be kind to anybody writing for media. They should do their jobs, then we'll read them without ripping them. And finally, Elliott's first blog entry, which mentions the reputation Parisians have for rudeness: Before relocating to Paris in July of this year, I was told, repeatedly, that Parisians are “rude.” The warnings came from friends and acquaintances in Australia, Spain, Iceland, the United States, England and more than 10 other countries, including France. But in the four months since arriving in the City of Light, I have been treated with nothing but kindness. I’m not sure why the cashier smiled so warmly when I entered the tabac. Perhaps she was amused when I sheepishly said, “Par-don ma-dame, je ne parle pas Français.” (Pardon me madam, I don’t speak French). Perhaps the waitress at L’An Vert Du Decor kissed me goodbye because I kissed her first. At the Monoprix across the street from my apartment, maybe the middle-age shopper so eagerly helped me choose the right cheese because, drum roll please … I smiled, looked him in the eye and asked if he would help me choose the right cheese. Rude people live everywhere. So do amiable ones. In order to distinguish the latter from the former you often have to make the first move. Especially in Paris. Elliott's experience is similar to mine. I don't expect people to be rude, and I do make the first move. People are generally very nice, and very helpful to me. Generally. And then there's the comment I left below Elliott's entry: I think it's important to realize that French people who are rude to you as an American are, perhaps, rude to everyone. Just like rude Americans. I had this happen a few days ago at a Paris café I frequent. The short waiter, who'd been, well...short...with me before, was not only short with me this time, he'd cleared away the supplementary chocolates my very "sympa" waiter Didier had given me. The contrast between nice and nasty almost had me in tears. Shorty Waiter seemed much nicer to a man I see often there, so I went over and asked him, en Français, "Is this guy angry with me, or with the universe?" He told me he'd seen the guy being very unpleasant with a bunch of French people the other day. I told him the story of the chocolates. Well, it seems the story was overheard by the couple next to me, another couple I see often, with a couple of Yorkies always in tow. Not long afterward, Shorty Waiter came over with a new attitude -- smiled, and left me chocolates. Of course, he didn't apologize or anything! But, it was nice he finally cleared the air. ...And a good thing he did, since I'll be back in Paris with my boyfriend at the end of November, enroute to a noir festival in Italy he needs to attend. My boyfriend's response, upon hearing my story: Tell this little fucker that if he doesn’t behave himself I’m going to duct-tape him to a skateboard and roll him against traffic down Boulevard St. Germain. It's so nice to be with a man who so obviously forgot to pick up a copy of the metrosexual dictionary.